Emergencies Only
by Snarkymuch
Summary: Like this is pure self-indulgent fluff right here. Not even that original, but it made me happy. Basically, what if Peter and friends were at the compound for movie night and the newly pardoned avengers arrive while Tony's on an ice cream run.
1. Emergencies Only CH1

Tony was comparing Ben and Jerry's flavors for movie night when he got Ned's panicked call.

"Ned, what did I tell you? This line is for emergencies only." He sighed, still looking over the selection in the freezer case. "And no, MJ eating the last Dorito doesn't qualify as one despite what Peter thinks."

He heard a shuffling and heavy breathing on the other end. It piqued his interest a little. What had they gotten into? Friday hadn't sent any alerts. There was nothing on the radar. Things had been quiet. Which could only mean they were screwing off.

"I don't know what you're doing, but so help me if you guys break anything," Tony warned lightly, going back to looking over the flavors. "It's good you called though, there is no mint chip. Does Peter have a second choice?"

"Please, this is serious, Mr. Stark. I need you to listen."

He heard shuffling again. "Are you _crawling_?"

"Could you just, like, stop talking for a minute so I can explain?"

He froze. Ned was a lot of things, but assertive wasn't one of them.

"Okay, you got my attention," Tony said, walking toward the exit of the store, ice cream forgotten, fingers already on the button to engage his suit. He'd been gone less than ten minutes. It didn't seem possible they found trouble in that short of time, but it was Peter and crew, which in that case, anything was possible. "Go on. Explain."

"It's MJ. She went to the kitchen and didn't come back," Ned whispered nervously.

Tony's brow wrinkled in confusion, not quite grasping the issue.

"Are you sure she just didn't decide to take a bathroom break and not tell you? I don't want to be the one to fill you guys in and all, but there are a lot of reasons a girl might take a few extra minutes. Didn't you have the 'your bodies are changing' speech in health class yet?"

"Oh my God, Mr. Stark!" Ned whispered. "This isn't like that! She went to get some sodas, and then a second later, Peter's spidey senses started going all crazy." There was more shuffling. "He went in after her and told me to hide, so that's why I'm trying to get under the coffee table and call you for help."

"What? Why didn't you just say that?"

"I was trying!"

With a tap of his fingers, the suit enclosed around him, his heart hammering in his chest. Why hadn't Friday alerted him?

"I'm heading there now. Friday's Babysitter Protocol should keep you safe until I get there."

"What about Peter?" Ned said shakily.

The compound felt like it was lightyears away even though he knew it was only seconds out. "I'm almost there. He'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now hide. I'm on my way," he said, ending the call, the faint light of the compound already coming into view. "Friday, who are our unexpected guests, and how'd they get in?"

"Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton and Sam Wilson, sir. You restored their clearance last week and sent an invite. It appears they have arrived earlier than expected."

"Alright, I'm touching down now. Keep an eye on things until I—"

Friday interrupted him before he could finish. "Boss, there appears to be an escalating hostage situation occurring in the kitchen," his AI spoke.

"Of course, there is. Peter's there." He landed, his suit disappearing around him. He jogged to the back entrance, taking in the scene around him.

Everyone froze when he stepped inside.

His gaze fell on Natasha first. She had Michelle in her grasp, arm twisted behind her back. It should have been painful, but if it was, she wasn't showing it. She looked more annoyed than anything.

He let out a breath when he saw Peter. He was in pajamas with his hands pinned behind his back by Sam, his hair disheveled, looking incredibly displeased. He knew Peter was more than capable of pulling free. He was playing nice, which Tony was grateful for.

"So, okay," he said, clasping his hands together. "I see everyone has met, but maybe some formal introductions are in order, but first, Sam, Nat, it's time to let the kiddos go."

Nobody moved though. They all just exchanged glances, and MJ sighed, looking bored.

Steve stepped forward. "Why are there children at the compound?"

Peter picked his head up. "Umm, because it's movie night? We were gonna watch that old movie Alien, the one where that thing tears through that chick's stomach and it's all gross and slimy—"

"Whoa, what?" Clint said, seeming to have found his voice, cutting Peter off. "What the fuck, Stark? You have kids?"

"I don't have kids, Barton." Tony narrowing his gaze at him. "They don't even look like me. Why would you think I had kids? And second, why haven't you let them go yet?" He looked to Natasha. "Did I fall into some alternate reality where I don't own this complex and don't make the rules?"

"Mr. Stark," Peter said. "As cool as this is. I thought they were like, you know, criminals? Why are they here?"

"Well, about that," Tony sighed. "Remember all the meetings I've been dragged to lately? You know, like the one last week I had to leave early because you got _shot_."

"When are you going to stop bringing that up? I had it handled," Peter whined.

Tony's brows shot up. "Seriously? Handled. You were digging the bullet out with a nail file when I got there. You were bleeding out. It's stupid stunts like that will get you killed."

"That's badass," Clint said. "Like really inappropriate, since you're like what, twelve, but still pretty damn badass."

"Don't encourage him," Tony said.

"Is anyone else uncomfortable that he was shot last week," Sam said, still holding the kid's hands.

"I've added it to the list of things to question Stark about later," Natasha said.

Peter dropped his head. "This is so embarrassing."

"Tough," Tony said. "Anyway, as I was saying, to make a long story short. The Accords got dissolved, and these trigger-happy morons here were pardoned. Which leads us here." Tony gestured to the room. "And as much as I'd like to tie up these kids to keep them out of trouble, they're not mine, and I'm pretty sure it's a crime, so if you'd let them go, that'd be great. As the kid said, it's movie night, and Sigourney Weaver waits for no one."

Natasha and Sam exchanged a look and then released the teens.

"Just for the record," Michelle said flatly. "We had this under control."

"MJ, really?" Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. It was bad enough dealing with Peter's terrible lack of self-preservation instincts. He didn't need two rebellious teens.

"Stark, again, what is going on, and who is _he_?" Steve said, staring at Peter. "Who are _they_?"

"His name's Peter, and he's none of your business," Tony said sharply. "That's Michelle, aka MJ." He gestured to her as she dug through the fridge. "She's also none of your business."

"So, are we all okay then?" Peter asked, looking around the room.

"I'm good," Michelle said coolly, popping open a can of soda and taking a sip.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter half-whispered. "I did okay, right? I mean, you're not mad? I figured you'd be back soon and I didn't wanna mess up, so I tried to just stall and not hurt anyone—"

"Peter," he said. "Seriously, chill. It's fine, kid. Go with MJ and get the movie ready. You did good. I'll be right there. As far as I see it, anytime we don't need to mop up blood, it's a win. Oh, and by the way, I think Ned might be stuck under the coffee table. Just a heads up."

"Why's he—" Peter went to ask, but MJ had him by the arm.

"Come on, dork," she said dryly. "You get Ned. I'll get the remote."


	2. Emergencies Only CH2

Tony watched as the two teens disappeared through the doorway. He knew Peter would still be listening, though. The kid was ridiculously nosy.

Someone cleared their throat to his right, and he glanced over to see Clint pushing off the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. All the eyes in the room seemed fixed on Tony. He had planned on introducing them to Peter at some point but nowhere in his imagination had he planned on it turning out like this. He wasn't sure how to recover from the meeting they'd just had.

"Stark," Natasha said coolly. "So many questions. Let's start with Peter."

"Like I told Steve," Tony said. "It's not really any of your concerns, and really, I might have been more open to sharing if you hadn't taken Peter hostage in the first few minutes after meeting him."

Natasha raised a brow, tilting her head as she stared Tony down. He wasn't about to back down from a challenge though—not in front of them, so he raised his own eyebrow and stared right back.

"Look, man," Sam started. "I think we're all sorry for how things went, but I think we can all agree that saying we took them hostage is pretty strong wording for what we did. We were just securing what we thought was a threat."

Tony turned his gaze to Sam. "Really? Two teens a threat? And I think a hostage situation was exactly what Friday called it thinking back. It doesn't matter though because I'm here now and not letting you guys harm another hair on their heads. Keeping them safe has sort of turned into a hobby for me."

"No offense, Tony," Clint said. "But you said the kid was digging out a bullet with a nail file. That's not exactly what I call keeping kids safe."

Tony shrugged. "He's done worse. Anyway, I took him to medical. He was fine."

Tony watched as Steve's face morphed into his self-righteous bitch face. He couldn't help but sigh. He knew what followed that face. Lectures.

"Tony, we're all adults here. I think it's fair to say we are speaking from concern. You say they aren't yours, but there is no explanation for them being here. I can't help but think this is putting them in danger being around—"

"Let me stop you right there, Cap," Tony said, putting up a hand. "You don't know the first damned thing about those kids and their safety. Things have changed. I'm like the most adult who's ever adulted lately. I even make them eat their veggies so you can lose the constipated face."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Do you want an apology? Will that help this? We didn't come here to fight. I wanted to put the past behind us. I'm sorry, Tony, for everything. Please, can we start over?"

Tony wasn't expecting that. He fully expected the Captain to dig in his heels and make a scene, maybe even turning into a reenactment of Siberia. This was totally unexpected.

"You're sorry," Tony repeated slowly. "Okay, yeah. I can get behind that. Do I have to say it too, or are we good just letting it hang as is?"

"I thought you were an adult now, Tony," Natasha said smoothly. "I'd think you'd know the answer to that question."

Tony licked his lips. "Yeah, okay. You're right. I'm the adult who adults and all." He turned to face Steve directly, squaring his shoulders. "Despite some feelings, I still might harbor. I didn't actually want you guys rotting in prison or whatever. Hence why I tried to fix what I did, so I'm sorry, Steve. I played a part, and I regret _some_ of my actions. We were friends. Maybe we can be again."

His words must have hit home with Steve because he became a little misty-eyed at that and Tony took a step back. He hated feelings. They were squishy and sat funny in his gut. Feelings were something he preferred to keep on lockdown. He really didn't need to have a chick flick moment with Steve Rogers.

"Wow, I honestly didn't think you had that in you, Stark," Clint said.

"Agreed," Natasha chirped, far too amused for Tony's liking.

"Leave him alone, guys," Steve said, giving them all with his Judgy Face. "We are trying to repair things remember?"

Silence seemed to settle in over them. Awkward didn't sum it up, and to top it off, Steve was still looking at him with his big puppy dog eyes. Finally, Sam spoke, breaking the tension.

"So, do we get to know about this Peter kid or what?" Sam asked. "I'm still betting on an illegitimate son."

"I'll take some of that bet," Clint said.

Tony drew a deep breath. "Funny. It's not for me to decide, though. It's up to him, and as much as I'd like to claim responsibility for that kid's genius. I had no hand, or otherwise, in his making."

"Then can we ask him?" Natasha asked. "Just a friendly chat."

Tony snorted. "The kid's probably been listening to this whole conversation already, bouncing on his feet for a moment to butt in. Though I want to formally say to him that if he does, there's no going back."

Everyone in the room looked confused for a moment then there was the pattering of running feet and the sound of Ned calling after Peter, begging him to rethink. Suddenly, Peter skidded to a halt in the doorway, Ned and MJ nearly colliding with him.

"Mr. Stark." Peter gave him an incredulous expression.

"So, you were listening," Tony said. "In that case, it's your call, kiddo."

He could see the nervousness rolling off Peter. He was chewing on his lip, looking around the room.

"They won't tell, Peter," Tony said, already guessing at his concerns. "I know things haven't been great between us all, but they don't roll like that. If you want to tell them, _only if you want to tell them_ , you can. No pressure kiddo. It was always only a matter of time, anyway."

MJ bumped her shoulder into Peter. "Yeah, you're terrible with secrets, dork."

Peter looked at Tony and swallowed. "You don't think umm, Mr. Steve. I mean the Captain—Captain America, is gonna be mad about you know, the shield thing," he half-whispered to Tony, though the room could hear.

"What is he talking about, Tony?" Steve asked.

"You gotta ask him," Tony replied, unable to hold back a small smirk.

Steve looked at Peter. Ned was behind him, trying to stay tucked halfway in the doorway. MJ was beside him, watching with an unreadable expression.

"Wait," Steve's face suddenly shifted, his brows pinching together. "The shield." He said it like it meant everything. "I remember your voice. It all fits. You're that little guy from Queens, aren't you? Spider something." Steve leveled his gaze on Tony. "How old is he, Tony? How could you?"

"Hey, I'm not that young. I'm nearly sixteen," Peter protested.

"Which makes you fifteen," Natasha corrected. "Fourteen in Germany. Nice try, though, kid."

"Oh my God, Dude," Ned said from behind Peter. "The Black Widow just called you out."

"Hey, whose side are you on?" Peter snapped back over his shoulder to Ned.

"Chill, Peter," MJ said. "She only pointed out the obvious."

Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Steve was looking about ready to lecture, so he knew he needed to jump in soon.

"Look, everyone, calm down," Tony said. "Steve, you need to listen before going off on a tangent. The kid—Peter, was doing this gig long before I found him and got involved. I only tried to make it safer for him, and trust me; he's safer with the suit I made than without."

"One word, Stark," Natasha said. "Germany."

Tony put his hands up placatingly, giving a little shrug. "Okay, you got me there. Minor error in judgment. He was fine, though, if you all remember."

"Of course, I remember. I dropped part of an airport on him," Steve said. "Why would you bring a kid to fight like that?"

Peter put up his hand like he was in school and waiting for the teacher to call on him.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yes, Peter."

"I just want to say that you shouldn't be too hard on Mr. Stark," Peter said. "I mean the whole Germany thing, getting to fight the freaking Winter Soldier. Like oh my God, Dude—"

"Peter, time to shush, not helping," Tony said.

"You fought me too, kid. What am I, chopped liver?" Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No! You are so cool—like so awesome," Peter said. "Your wings are like the coolest thing ever, man. All like—" Then Peter started miming a bird in flight with his hands, adding in little noises for effect.

Sam shook his head and just huffed out a laugh. "You're something else, kid. Can't believe you're really that bug guy."

"Spider-Man," Peter corrected.

"Whatever you say, Spider-Baby," Sam said with a grin. "So, who are the other two, kids?"

"Yeah," Clint said. "They aren't secretly bugs too, are they? Should we be afraid?" he teased.

MJ's eyes narrowed.

Tony laughed. "Easy, MJ."

"I wasn't going to hurt him," she replied.

"Probably not, but he's barely housetrained. He might pee on the floor if you scared him too bad," Tony said. "And on that note, I'm out. I think it's time we adjourn to the living room and get this movie night started." Tony looked to the others. "You'll all welcome to join us—if you can behave, that is. Otherwise, you're at MJ's mercy."

With that, Tony ushered his minions out of the kitchen, leaving a gaggle of confused Avengers behind.


	3. Accidents with Bagels

It had been a week since The Great Hostage Standoff, and Steve was starting to feel a bit more settled. The surprise of finding three teens at the compound had been a lot to take in—finding out one of them was Spider-Man was even more of an adjustment. Tony apologizing? That had sent him for a loop. All in all, Steve thought he was handling things pretty well considering.

That was until he walked into the kitchen early that morning and found blood—and not a little blood—a lot. There was a splattering across the bottom cabinets and across the counter. It looked like something from a horror film. It immediately put him on alert, and he looked around the scene, taking in the cream cheese on the counter and the half a bagel beside it—a huge butcher knife on the floor, the other half of the bagel resting next to it. Everything was sprinkled in blood. He could only imagine how someone managed to injure themselves this badly slicing a bagel.

"Friday," Steve said, brow furrowing. "Who was in here last?"

The AI immediately responded. "Peter Parker, sir."

Even though he wasn't close to Peter, he felt a stab of concern. Tony was out of the state on business, not due back until that night, which meant Peter was somewhere in the compound dealing with an injury alone. Tony had trusted them to look after him until he got home. This wasn't a good start.

He needed to find the kid and make sure he was okay, but before he could ask Friday where Peter was, he heard a groan from the living room.

"Please stop bleeding!" He heard Peter say. "What do you want from me? Oh, crap! It's dripping on the carpet. I'm in so much trouble."

Steve was out of the kitchen and around the corner quickly. What he saw shocked him. Peter was standing there pale and panicked. His hand had what looked like a t-shirt wrapped around it, soaked in blood. He stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at Steve.

"Uh, it's not as bad as it looks," Peter said. "The knife was just super sharp, but it's really fine. Just waiting for the bleeding to stop. I swear. I've had so much worse. I probably shouldn't say that. Sorry, I ramble when I'm nervous—not that you make me nervous. Well, maybe—"

"Kid," Steve said, raising his brows and putting up a hand. "Stop. Just breathe."

"Yeah, okay. Breathing. I can do that." Peter nodded, adjusting the grip on his hand. Blood dripped onto the floor.

Peter looked like a startled animal. Steve found himself relaxing his posture, trying to come across less intimidating.

"How about I grab a first aid kit and take a look at your hand?" he offered. "Believe it or not, I've learned a few tricks over the years, and maybe we could go over to the table—away from the carpet." He glanced at Peter's dripping hand.

Peter drew his hand closer to himself, biting at his lip. He shook his head. "No, that's okay. I—I should be fine. It'll be fine. I don't want to bother you."

Steve sighed. Of course, this wasn't going to be easy. He debated on calling Tony but decided against it—he could handle taking care of Peter. How hard could it be?

"It's no bother, Peter," he said. "Now let me take a look." He began to approach the kid, but before he could get close, the boy turned and dashed off down the corridor.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, sighing. With as severely as he was bleeding, he knew he had to go after him. He needed medical attention, whether he liked it or not.

"Friday," Steve said. "Where's Peter?"

"He's currently in the broom closet in the east corridor, Captain. You'll find it to be the fourth door on the left if you proceed straight ahead."

He jogged down the hallway and quickly found the closet—the blood all over the handle and frame a dead giveaway. Peter needed more practice at evading capture if he thought this was hiding.

He gently rapped on the door. "You in there, Pete?"

"No! I mean, maybe. I might be, but it doesn't matter because I can't come out."

"Then can I come in?"

He heard a bang, and something clunked behind the door. "What? You don't need to come in. I'm like totally fine. It stopped bleeding and everything. Really, no big deal."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Lying to Captain America, huh?"

"Uh … No?"

"I'm coming in, Peter."

As he pulled open the door, there was a crash. Peter lunged out, slipping by Steve and colliding with the opposite wall, leaving a bloody smear behind. He was off in a blur down the corridor and around the corner. Sighing, Steve took off after him.

He didn't bother asking Friday where he was this time. Instead, he followed the droplets of blood on the floor. He made it all the way back around to the living area before the trail seemed to suddenly stop. He looked around, confused.

"Steve," Natasha's voice came from behind him. "Care to explain when it looks like someone filmed a cheap slasher flick in here?"

He turned to face her. "Peter's hurt and not exactly willing to cooperate. I've been chasing him for the last ten minutes, but I lost him somewhere in here."

She hummed, eyebrow raised as she looked over the trail of blood. "He can't be far."

A single drop of blood fell on the floor between them—followed by another.

They both glanced up. Peter was sitting on the ceiling, hand cradled to his chest. The shirt he had wrapped around his hand was beyond saturated.

"Come down here," Natasha said flatly. "You're making a mess."

Frowning, Peter shook his head.

Hearing footsteps, Steve glanced over his shoulder. Sam was walking into the room. "There you guys are!" He paused, looking at them, and then glancing up. "Whoa … Why is the spider-baby dripping blood from the ceiling? You know Stark ain't gonna like this."

Steve was regretting his decision not to call Tony more and more. He ran a hand over his face. "Everything's going to be fine. We just need to get him down."

"I could call Clint up here. He could dart him," Natasha said with a shrug. "Kid would drop like a lead weight."

"Hey, I can hear you, you know," Peter said from above.

"Natasha!" Steve chided. "No one is darting anyone." He looked up at Peter. "Look, we only want to help. Why don't you come down here? We can get you fixed up and forget this ever happened."

Peter pressed his lips together in a tight line, another drop of blood falling as he shifted the hold on his hand. He glanced between them and then gave a small nod before dropping to the floor. He looked pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. "Sorry for running."

"I just want to make sure you're alright," Steve said. "If you'd rather Sam or Nat take a look, that's fine, too—even Clint would be better than just waiting and hoping it heals okay."

Peter's shoulders sagged. "Yeah, you can look. It's kind of gross though, so don't say I didn't warn you."

"I think I can handle a little blood."

Steve sat beside Peter at the table as he carefully unwrapped the ruined t-shirt from Peter's hand. He wasn't going to admit it, but it was pretty gross. The cut was deep, slicing down through the meat between his thumb and index finger, pulling apart and exposing bone near the joint of his thumb. Had Peter used any more force with the knife, it would have lopped his thumb right off.

"This is a little deeper than I thought," Steve said to Nat and Sam who were standing behind him. "Maybe we should call Tony."

"That'll go over great," Sam grumbled. "I can just imagine trying to explain this. The first time we babysit, he almost loses a thumb."

Natasha sighed. "I'll make the call. You two watch him."

"Friday's probably already told him," Peter said, making Steve glance up. "There's probably some weird protocol for this. I wouldn't be surprised if—"

"Where's Peter?" Tony's voice echoed through the room.

"—he showed up any minute," Peter finished.

Tony was beside them in seconds, his eyes flitting between the bloodied t-shirt on the table and the towel wrapped around Peter's hand. His eyes met Steve's. "How bad?"

"He needs stitches—more than I feel comfortable doing," Steve said.

Peter chewed his lip. "Can't we just let it heal? The bleeding is nearly stopped. I bet if we wait, it will be fine in a few hours. Please?"

Tony ran a hand through Peter's hair. "I'm sorry, kid. I know how much you hate them." His hand fell to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Friday, call in whoever's on weekend rotation for medical."

"Sure thing, Boss."

Peter sagged back in his chair but nodded.

"Steve, can I have a word?" Tony asked.

He nodded, getting up and following him out of the room. They walked down the corridor until they were on the other side of the compound. When they got to the vast expanse of windows that overlooked the lawn, Tony stopped.

"I wanted to make sure he couldn't overhear," Tony said, turning to look out the windows. "Thank you for looking out for him today. I know he can be a handful when he's hurt—especially if it means stitches."

"Doesn't like needles?" Steve guessed, and he could understand. Everyone had something they didn't like.

"More like he burns through lidocaine too fast and feels every stitch go in." Tony was staring out through the window. "Can't really blame him for trying to avoid it."

Steve nodded, understanding a little better why Peter had run.

"Boss, the medical team is en route. ETA fifteen minutes."

Tony's face hardened, and he drew a shaky breath. "Thanks, Fri."

There was an uneasy feeling in the air.

"It's gonna be bad, isn't it?" Steve asked quietly, imagining how it must be to watch Peter in pain.

Tony turned, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, and it never gets any easier."


End file.
